


Dog Days

by FishEyenoMiko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bestiality, Bondage, Community: bloodyvalentine, Doggy Style, Facials, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Public Humiliation, Public Nudity, Public Sex, Reichenbach Angst, Reichenbach-Related, Self-Destruction, Theatre, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, Virgin Sherlock, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishEyenoMiko/pseuds/FishEyenoMiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock goes in search of a unique experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dog Days

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: [AvatarMN](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AvatarMN)  
> Written for Bloody Bingo on [bloodyvalentine](http://bloodyvalentine.dreamwidth.org/).  
> 

Sherlock sat quietly in the small, austere room he'd been led into. He'd changed into an old pair of clothes as ordered, and was now waiting for... whatever was to come. He wasn't sure what it was going to be; what he'd asked for, and what was offered, were both vague. But that was the point; he wanted to be surprised by what was going to happen.

The door opened and a tall, androgynous man walked in. 

"Come with me," he commanded, turning and walking off. No doubt he expected Sherlock to follow without question. And indeed, Sherlock did just that.

They went down a flight of stairs. As they walked down the hall, Sherlock could hear people; he quickly realised it was a crowd. They were currently cheering for something; it noise was raucous and rude.

Sherlock and his escort went through a door. They walked into the wings of a stage. Sherlock's escort grabbed his arm and bodily pulled him over to a mark on the floor; one that looked rather like a "V", Sherlock noted.

Two people were leaving the stage; a woman being led on a leash by another woman. Both of them were naked. They walked past Sherlock, taking no notice of him as they headed backstage.

While Sherlock was still uncertain of precisely what was going to happen, it was clear that it was to be public. The crowd in the audience would watch and make their remarks, and witness what was going to happen to him. This new information unsettled Sherlock; yet the very... _wrongness_ of it made Sherlock want it all the more.

A tall, dark-haired man in a finely tailored suit walked up to Sherlock. He has a small microphone on the lapel, and was carrying a small switch. The man looked Sherlock up and down, smiling salaciously. One of the things Sherlock had agreed to was not to speak unless spoken to, so he remained silent.

The man walked past Sherlock and unto the stage.

"Well, my fellow freaks and perverts, as fun as this all has been, the night is almost over..."

"NO!"

"BOOO!!"

There were other shouts of anger and denial. The Emcee held up his hands. 

"Now, now, my kiddies, don't worry, the night's not _quite_ over yet. And, as any of you regulars know: We always save the best for last!"

More shouting; this time it was cheers and whistles.

"You all know what time it is, don't you?"

Two large men came up to Sherlock. The grabbed his arms. As they did, Sherlock heard shouting from the crowd. The disorganized noise soon turned into a single, enthusiastic chant:

"VIRGIN! VIRGIN!"

With that, the two men began to drag Sherlock onto the stage. He would have gone willingly; he suspected this was part of the show. Reluctance, resistance, the idea that he didn't _want_ this, was part of the show. So he pretended to fight. He found he was able to pull and struggle quite hard without giving his "captors" much real hardship; the only reason he didn't "fight" harder was that it was a strain on _him_.

Sherlock was dragged out in front of the crowd, who hooted and whistled. The Emcee walked over to him.

"He is quite lovely, isn’t he?" he said. He grabbed Sherlock's chin, tilted his head a bit to give the crowd a better look. Still playing the part of the reluctant virgin victim (granted, one of those terms _was_ true), Sherlock pulled out of the man's grasp. He contemplated spitting on him, but decided that was a bit over-the-top.

"You know, my fellow freaks," the Emcee said to the crowd, "I've heard this man has done a very bad thing..."

The crowd booed.

Sherlock considered the things he'd mention in the contract he'd signed; he'd said nothing about doing something bad. Which didn't mean he _hadn't_ , but he certainly hadn't told these people about it.

"And what do we do with people who do bad things?"

"Punish!" yelled a loud female.

"Punish!" a man shouted in agreement. Soon the whole crowd was chanting it.

"Well," said the Emcee, cheerfully, "far be it from me not to give my audience what it wants!"

He nodded off-stage, and several people emerged from the wings. They were in various outfits, made of leather, and cotton, and lace; some were almost completely covered while others wore almost nothing. The only thing they had in common--and so Sherlock noticed it right off--was that they were wearing gloves with metal tips.

One of the women walked up and grabbed his shirt, the sharp metal tore at the fabric. The others began grabbing and pulling, ripping and shredding. Sherlock squirmed; the metal talons occasionally scraping against his skin as the strangers violently, roughly tore his clothes off.

Sherlock knew when he signed on for this that it was going to be sexual, but he found himself stunned by this sudden, public stripping. His arms were still being held at his side by the two large men, so he was unable to cover his groin from the view of the crowd. The men dragged him up to the front of the stage, almost within reach of the audience. They cheered and whistled, some of them making crude comments about his... manhood.

The Emcee walked up behind him. He pushed his legs between Sherlock's, forcing them apart. He pressed himself against Sherlock, and reached around, again grabbing Sherlock's chin. It was almost too much. Sherlock had never been naked in front anyone outside his own family before, and now here he was, naked in front of a crowd of strangers, being manhandled, and now he could feel the Emcee's warm body against his naked back.

"So," the Emcee said into Sherlock's ear, "have you been a bad boy?"

"Go to hell!" Sherlock spat back.

Sherlock could feel the Emcee step away from him. He let out a gasp as the switch he man carried smacked him on the arse. The crowd laughed and cheered.

"Are you a bad boy?"

Sherlock debated whether or not to answer him. Part of his hesitation was because of his own guilt; "admitting" to something that was completely untrue was one thing, but admitting to be being "bad" when that's how he actually felt like opening himself up too much. Even if no one knew he was being honest, he would know, and that was enough.

Sherlock apparently hesitated too long; he flinched and gasped as the switch hit his arse again.

"Are you a bad boy?" The Emcee's tone was getting harsher each time he asked.

"... Yes. I'm a bad boy."

The Emcee laughed. Then hit Sherlock's arse with the switch a third time.

The crowd went wild.

"I'll bet you are!" shouted a male voice, causing the crowd to hoot and cheer all over again.

Stepping up to Sherlock again, the Emcee said, "Now we're getting somewhere...." He put the switch under Sherlock's chin, using it to tilt his head back. "Are you ready to accept your punishment?"

Again Sherlock hesitated; again it was long enough to make them Emcee step back. This time the switch hit against the soft flesh on his upper thighs.

"Yes!"

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I'm ready to accept my punishment."

Again the crowd went wild, though it quickly turned to chanting: "PUNISH! PUNISH!"

Amidst this, Sherlock steeled himself, knowing what was coming. Sure enough, the Emcee struck his thighs with the switch.

 

The Emcee made a gesture, and the two men dragged Sherlock back from the front of the stage. They shoved Sherlock to the floor. The Emcee walked over and stepped behind him. He struck Sherlock's arse with the switch again.

"Spread your legs," he said, quietly but firmly.

Sherlock slid his knees slightly apart. 

The Emcee hit him again. "Wider."

Sherlock spread his legs further.

"That's better."

Kneeling down between Sherlock's thighs, the Emcee grabbed Sherlock's hips and pulled them up, so that his bare arse slammed into the Emcee's leather-clad crotch. Sherlock let out a gasp that was part pain, part arousal.

"Oh, yeah," said the Emcee. He leaned over Sherlock and began to thrush against him. "What do you think, you bad little boy? Would you like me to fuck that tight, virgin hole of yours?"

Sherlock moaned at the feeling of leather against his naked flesh, and the man's obscene words, and the crowd, who were clearly enjoying the show. 

"Well?" asked The Emcee, tilting Sherlock so that the next thrust pressed his crotch against Sherlock's balls.

"Ung... yes..." Sherlock managed.

The Emcee laughed. Then he reached down, pulling Sherlock up onto his knees. One arm wrapped tight around Sherlock's chest, the other came up around his shoulders. Suddenly, the Emcee shoved two fingers between Sherlock's lips, pushing deep, but being careful not to make him gag.

"Too bad. This is supposed to be _punishment_ , remember?"

"PUNISH!" the crowd began chanting again.

"ENOUGH!" the Emcee shouted, close enough to Sherlock's ear to make him wince.

Pushing Sherlock to the floor again, the Emcee got up. 

"Don't worry, you sick perverts, you'll get your show."

The crowd cheered. 

The Emcee turned to one of the other... actors? Using his switch, he pointed to a section of the stage. 

"Get out the restraints."

Looking over his shoulder, Sherlock watched as the woman walked over to where the Emcee had pointed. 

Sherlock had noted that some of the planks in the theatre floor were worn differently than most, and suspected they hid compartments to pull things up from under the stage. And sure enough, the woman flipped two planks, revealing two short metal poles with three sets of straps attached.

The Emcee turned to Sherlock. He nodded towards the straps, saying, "Get over there."

Sherlock began to get up, but the Emcee move quickly over, smacking Sherlock in the back with the switch.

"Crawl."

Getting back down on his hands and knees, Sherlock made his way across the stage. The hard wood was far from gentle on his hands and knees; he wondered if he'd get hit for going too slow. That thought made him speed up; while he was taking perverse pleasure from some of the things he was being put through tonight, he'd decided he didn't much care for the pain.

Sherlock got over to the restraints without getting "punished". He put his arms against the metal poles. 

The Emcee walked behind Sherlock. "Why don't you strap him in, my dear?"

Smiling, the actress tightened the straps, securing Sherlock's arms to the poles. As soon as she was done, the Emcee knelt down. He flipped over two more planks, revealing straps right under them. Taking one of Sherlock's legs, he slid it over, securing the strap around Sherlock's upper calf. Then he slid the other leg over to the other strap and did the same. The placement of the straps forced Sherlock's legs apart, leaving his bare, virgin arse vulnerable to whatever the Emcee had in mind for it.

Until now, Sherlock had been facing the front of the stage, so the crowd could get a good look at his naked body. Now, though, he was facing the wings, essentially sideways from the audience. It occurred to him that given what was most likely going to happen, this was best view for the audience.

Walking up to stand in front of Sherlock, the Emcee used his switch to tilt his head up.

"You look so lovely like that... on your knees, spread, helpless, ready to be fucked. And I've got just the chap to do it."

The Emcee turned to another actor on the stage. "Go get Nero."

The crowd went wild at this.

"Ah, ah," the Emcee said over the din. "Mum's the word, kiddies; I don't want to ruin the surprise."

The actor left the stage for a moment. The Emcee turned, giving Sherlock a smile that was downright evil-looking.

"Oh, God," Sherlock whispered as the actor came onto the stage with Nero--a large Great Dane. It was in a leash, yet it obediently say down as soon as the actor stopped.

Smiling, the Emcee walked over to the dog. "Aw, who's a good doggie?" he said, scratching him between the ears.

The audience, meanwhile, was cheering and hooting. There had been shocked gasps and even screams or surprise when the dog had been brought out, but now they were all excited about what was about to happen.

Reaching into his pocket, the Emcee pulled out a small bottle of liquid and a latex glove. Walking over, he sat between Sherlock's thighs. Sherlock turned to see what he doing and got a light hit on one thigh with the switch.

"Eyes front."

Sherlock turned and faced forward.

Suddenly, the Emcee slipped his glove-clad hand between Sherlock's arse cheeks, stroking his puckered virgin arsehole. He was smearing the liquid from the bottle onto Sherlock's skin.

The Emcee then slid his hand down, between Sherlock's legs. He fondled his balls, covered them with the liquid and arousing Sherlock in the process.

Then the Emcee got up, moving away from Sherlock. He nodded to the actor, who led Nero around behind Sherlock. There was a soft "clink" as the actor let Nero off his leash.

Sherlock let out a gasping whimper as he felt the dog licking him where the Emcee had applied the liquid; first down on his sac, then up between his cheeks. The movement and the wet heat and the cheering of the crowd and the sheer, terrible _wrongness_ of it all was driving Sherlock to the edge. He was harder then he'd ever been, and knew he wouldn't have long until he came; publicly and shamefully. 

Nero stopped. Sherlock had no real time to question why, though; suddenly the dog moved forward and put his front paws on Sherlock's shoulders.

"Oh, Jesus," Sherlock moaned as he realised what was about to happen.

Sherlock cried out as he was penetrated. There was physical pain, but his reaction was as much shock at what was happening. He was a virgin; he had rarely even kissed anyone; and here he was, bound on his hands and knees, in front of a crowd of strangers, being fucked by a dog.

Sherlock didn't have time to reflect, though; Nero began rutting him in earnest. The dog was eagerly, vigourously, thrusting into Sherlock's arse. Suddenly, he felt something; a large bump that stretched his arse a little wider. When Nero pulled back, Sherlock bit back a cry as something slammed against his anal ring. Sherlock remembered something he'd read, about male dogs having a knot that kept their penises inside their mating partner even after ejaculation.

Nero pushed back in to Sherlock, and, thankfully, didn't pull back quite so hard or fast this time. Finally accepting the limit the knot gave him, the dog continued to thrust back and forth inside Sherlock, working itself to climax... and driving Sherlock closer to his, as well.

"Oh... oh... oh God..."

"Come on, Nero!" shouted an audience member.

"Nero!"

"NERO! NERO!" the chant began.

With his fingers clawing at the floorboards, his head swimming with arousal and confusion and humiliation, with a dog pounding his arse and a crowd cheering, Sherlock came so hard he nearly passed out.

Sherlock's arms and legs were shaking, his head was drooping almost to the floor. But Nero was still inside him, still invading his now not-so virgin arse. Sherlock let out a soft whimper when he felt... _something_ squirt into him.

Sated, Nero relaxed. He had rested his front legs resting on Sherlock's back and was panting lightly.

"Woo!" shouted a member of the audience, clearly realizing Nero had finished his business.

"Yeah!" came another.

"You made him your bitch, didn't you!?" came a voice. This was met with uproarious laughter.

"Bitch!"

"Cum dumpster!"

"Fuck toy!"

"And you loved it didn't you, cum dumpster?!"

Sherlock stared at the floor, trying to block out everything. The shouts, the raucousness, the general _delight_ the audience took at his humiliation was nearly as bad as the act itself. But then that was the point. He had _asked_ for this, he felt he deserved it after what he had done...

Nero had shifted positions, trying to make himself comfortable. He ended up twisting himself around, so that he was now facing the opposite way to Sherlock. However, he was still attached to him by the knot in his cock.

The Emcee walked over to Nero, gently petting him.

"Such a good boy," he said.

Then the Emcee walked over to Sherlock. Reaching down, he lifted Sherlock's head, looking down at him. He gave Sherlock a curious look, almost one of... pity. Sherlock realised that he must have looked distressed or upset. But pity was the last thing he wanted; he wanted... he wasn't even sure, but it certainly wasn't for this man to feel _sorry_ for him. Twisting his neck to get his chin out of the Emcee's grip, Sherlock snapped out him, nearly biting the man's thumb.

Gritting his teeth, the man slapped him. Then he turned to one of the other men on the stage.

"You... come over here and hold his head."

With that, the Emcee reached down, slowly unzipping his trousers. He smirked as he pulled out his dick and began stroking himself. The man who the Emcee had given the order to came over and knelt next to Sherlock. He grabbed his head, holding it still so that it was right in front of the Emcee's hardening cock.

"Yeah, right in the face!"

"Wear it, bitch!"

"You know you want it!"

With a vicious smile, the Emcee came, his jizz shooting onto Sherlock's face. The crowd went nuts.

Smiling, the Emcee tucked himself back in and stepped away from Sherlock.

Nero was finally able to disengage from Sherlock. Getting his leash, his handler began led him off-stage.

"Aww, do it again!" one audience member lamented.

The Emcee put his hands up. 

"Now, now, kiddies... I always like to leave my audience wanting more..."

He turned, nodding to the two large men who'd dragged Sherlock out on stage. 

"Undo our... guest, would you please?"

The two men came forward and undid the straps holding Sherlock down. Then they lifted him and half-dragged him over the edge of the stage.

"Why don't you all give our lovely... volunteer a hand!"

The crowd cheered and clapped, many of them making crude comments.

With that, the men dragged him offstage.

As soon as they were in the wings, the men led Sherlock over to a couch. Gently shifting their hold, one of the men walked over and took a clean sheet and robe out of a cupboard. Seeing that they intended to lay Sherlock on the couch, he spoke up.

"I'd rather you take me back to my room."

"Yeah, okay," said the men. The man not holding Sherlock put the sheet away, but offered him the robe. Sherlock took it and covered himself.

"Would you like a cloth for your face?"

Sherlock remembered the room they'd given him having an en suite bathroom "I'll clean up in my room."

The man nodded.

 

Despite soreness in his arse, Sherlock made it to the shower. Really, his arms hurt more than his legs. He stood in the shower spray, feeling the filth wash off him. He didn't really feel any cleaner.

He didn't bother with night clothes, wrapping himself in the surprisingly soft, incredibly clean sheets he'd been provided.

Sherlock lay in bed, thinking about how he'd fallen into this state. He had thought lying to John, faking his death right on front of the man, had been the smart thing to do. He had convinced himself that John had to think it was real. And yet, the guilt of what he'd done, of what he continued to do staying away from John, letting him continue to think he was dead...

That's what tonight had been about; he'd wanted to be punished and humiliated, by people who didn't know him and wouldn’t ask questions.

But it hadn't helped. The guilt was still there, with some now added on. Because he thought about his feelings for John, and what he had hoped might happen when he returned to London. And while there was no reason for John to ever know what happened, Sherlock would always know...

 

Sherlock woke up. He was certain he'd only slept a few hours, and looking at the clock on his cell phone, he saw that that was indeed the case. He wondered what time it was in London. He knew he could figure it out in his head, but decided not to. Instead, he went ahead and sent a text:

_Coming back to London._

He didn't sign it. He was using a burner phone under a fake name; signing it "SH" would rather have made all that pointless.

A few minutes later, his phone chimed.

_You still have a few more loose ends.  
MH_

_I'm aware. I'm still coming back._

_Sentiment is a weakness.  
MH_

_I have the resources to get to London without your help._

There was a long break this time. Sherlock lay back down, loosely holding the phone. Finally, it chimed again.

_Arrangements have been made. LAX at 10, the plane leaves at 12:25.  
MH_

Setting the alarm his phone for 8AM, Sherlock curled up and tried to get back to sleep. Things would be better tomorrow.


End file.
